LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

(U|3p + iup|n0|i f xu 

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



-Br6W^<2{| D iy\ vS ,(^er^'rocLe. CH<*-^) 




3^7 3 «T 






Copyright, 1893, 
By Roberts Brothers. 



-4 // rights reserved. 



a-329/3 



John Wilson and Son, Cambridge. U.S.A. 



to 




to wolcott balestier 
These Verses and Pictures 




CONTENTS 



PAGE 

Anon 13 

Young La Folie 15 

Mrs. Golightly 17 

Rivals 21 

A New World „ 23 

Friends 25 

One of the Flock 27 

A Kitten 29 

To a Thought 33 

Shadows 37 

My Dog 40 

Une Parisienne 44 

The Remembered Lesson 47 

Poor Little Miss Flighty 53 



CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

Her Dream 55 

Blind-Man's-Buff 58 

Those Stairs 61 

From iEsop 63 

Fuzzidora 70 

Les Papillottes 75 

Vere Novo 78 

The Latter Fancy 79 

Frangipani Si 

The Plums 85 

Veritas 89 

The Dancing-Master's Farewell 92 

From The German: 

I. The Court Fool 94 

II. The Eagle and the Rhinoceros 95 

A Woolly Lamb 96 

The Weather of the World 98 

For the Safety of the Public , 10c 

Franklin Square 102 

The Giant and the Butterfly 105 

To my Old Watch 10S 



ALLEGRETTO 






ANON. 



| HERE dainty lyrics most convene, 
'"' W/MfUl ^ n song-book and anthology, 
M^WM \ 'Neath verses of deserts not mean 

His simple name I often see ; 
But ne'er in text-book, manual, note, 

The slightest mention of this bard, 
Whom yet with credit one may quote, — 
Poor Mr. Anon, I think it hard! 

For he, too, sang the faithful breast 

That 's better than a starry eye ; 
Sang love and springtime with the best, 

And cherry lips that none might buy ; 
With Sydney, Suckling, Herrick, Vere, 

His place among the " standards " won, 
And now that name is all we hear 

Of all he was, — poor Mr. Anon ! 

Where did he live? What did he do 
But launch his fancies in the air ? 

And was his hair worn in a cue, 

Or loose in love-locks, brown or fair? 



J 3 



No doubt he had dreams of his own — 
Light may the earth upon them lie ! 

Strange that so little should be known 

Of one who died — When did he die? 

What may his petit no7ti have been, 

Poor All-forgotten, long ago ? 
How did his mother call him in 

From play at bed-time ? Might one know ! 
What did his love put after " Dear " 

In her love-letter, when she wrote? 
What did his wife, with voice severe, 

Say when she found the blushing note? 

Charles! Edward! William! Peter! Paul! 

Or was it James ? or was it John ? 
The fact is, no one knows at all — 

Alack-a-day ! Poor Mr. Anon ! 
Thus I beguile mine idleness 

While staring at his odd, brief name ; 
I think of writing to the press 

On this case of neglected fame. 






V 




OUNG La Folie is at his looking-glass, 
Arranging his blond hair in lustrous locks; 
He of the careless shrug, the gay " Let pass ! " 

Perfumes his lips from a rare ointment box 




And La Sagesse, his Mentor, seeing him 

So butterfly as never once before : 
"Wherefore these vanities, this gaudy trim?" =z<^— ^"-ft 

La Folie echoes dreamily, "Wherefore?" 



And then, with soft expense of breath, 
" Marie ! " 
v-* His grave friend's eyes, so much on 
Ki^ 1 ^ parchment bent 

s^cp?^ \ i^-^-^y The budding rose they mostly 
miss to see, 
^ Widen somewhat at this development, 

i5 




" But she is far." " And yet so fine I dress 

For her, — yea, just because there is Marie ! " 

" But she will never know," says La Sagesse 

" And you speak true, — alas ! " says La Folie. 

" And so," sums Wisdom, " so, of all my toil 

And teaching, thankless youth, the end is this ! " 

And Folly, worlds of pity in his smile, 

"You dear old muff, you don't know what love is ! " 



16 





MRS. GOLIGHTLY. 

HE time is come to speak, I think: 

For on the square I met 

My beauteous widow, fresh and pink, 
. Her black gown touched at every brink 
With tender violet; 



And at her throat the white crepe lisse 

Spoke in a fluffy bow 
Of woe that should perhaps ne'er cease 
(Peace to thy shade, Golightly, peace !) 

Yet mitigated woe. 

In her soft eye, that used to scan 
The ground, nor seem to see, 
The hazel legend sweetly ran, 
" I could not wholly hate a man 
For quite adoring me." 



17 



And when she drew her 'kerchief fine, 

A hint of heliotrope 
Its snow edged with an inky line 
Exhaled, — from which scent you divine 

Through old regrets new hope. 

And then her step, so soft and slow 

She scarcely seemed to lift 
From off the sward her widowed toe, — 
One year, one little year ago ! — 
So soft yet, yet so swift ; 

Then, too, her blush, her side glance coy, 

Tell me in easy Greek 
(I wonder could her little boy 
Prove source of serious annoy ?) 

The time has come to speak. 



, <■• 



t8 




-, ,r 



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Riwyy 




Y only loves ! The first is fair, 
One of those blondes who best 
may wear 
That palest rose ; 
The other 's dark, — nay, almost 

black, — 
Displays of hair an utter lack, 

And needs no clo'es: 
My pipe, the latter; and the first, 
Miss Phyllida de Crickelhurst. 



I love them both — do not I, then! 
When Phyllida comes on the scene, 

My pulses move 
From dead-march step to polka pace ; 
But when I 'm left just face to face 

With the other love, 
I own to a contentment rare 
I scarcely feel when Phyll is there. 



Yet Phyllida is — oh, so sweet! 
That she should just live is a treat. 

Dear wayward dove, 
Her one fault is, fterJiaps, her wit, — 
She plagues me oft a pretty bit ! 

That other love 
Has this one virtue over Phyll, 
A mind to do just what I will. 

Suppose I have a fit of " blues," 
And comfort crave, does she refuse ? 

Or laugh at me ? 
She 's always there, she may not stir. 
If Phyllida were more like her, 

What life might be ! 
Or if it were the other way, 
And she were more like Phyllida ! 

Still, if it should come to a choice, 
And I could not but give my voice 

As to which love 
When skies are dark and winds blow free 
Should stay to bear me company 

Beside my stove, 
I know full well what I should do. 
And so I think do you — don't you ? 




fa V£ ^<ir,' --^\ 

EN I grow we^yToTAA/Tsdom and old Things, 
On Fancy's wings 

I fly to a new world, as itYshould be 



Made by me. 



B 



There the mountains all should be just little hills, " ~ 
The rivers, rills; ^--^v- 



And the sky all day should wear that baby blue ±J^%£s^- - 

Of when day's new. ^^^SiE^'Si 



From the field the tender green should never pass 
Of sprouting grass ; 



i All the\roses shbuld be buds, no lily white ,^ \ 

^ y / T f r ' "^ Blow open^ quite. ^"'^iSjiA 

And the people should be very young, none more \\f\\ ' T 
Than three or four, — ^ y^/ { $j/l \ 









-xmL£*. ~zm 



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23 



The age of cupids ; sweetly they should play 
The livelong day 



In the youngling grass, where all the ewes and rams 

Were little lambs ; ^ v-^Ho ^-■'"^-i? 

By the reedy water-courses, where the frogs 
PS ,ff Were polliwogs 



\ j j / 

tJ 1 ^1 /And the reeds themselves were — oh, no, not cat-tails'. v \"~"v : * 



i Jc^tV/fW->-. But kitten-tails; 

WmHs 1 

A /L^o 'i^ nc V on l ^ e banks not lady- slipper grew 
<M$MSmS^^^^ baby-shoe; 

■^Y'^lw^K 'And in the barnyards, calves could barely play, 
i y& v ' ;5< %g&-\- So new were they; 







/"^f And chicks still wore the yellow of their eggs 
/ \ /~>r^\ On bills and legs. 



%{ JJ*S '.In every nest at eve a callow brood 



-#J|^ 



Huddle should; 



And when the crescent brightened in the dark, 
Puppies bark. ^.^~^\ 




24 



FRIENDS. 



E 'RE friends 5 what makes you think 
we 're not ? 
We get along first-rate. 
You don't go 'n think just coz we 've 
got 
Nose-bleeds when we separate 
We are n't best friends, are n't Tom 

and I? 
Why, don't you see, Ma, thafs just 
why ! 

When Tom and I meet after school, 

" '11 you play leap-frog?" says I. 

He answers, casual-like and cool, 

" Girl's game ! Let 's play ' I 

spy.' " 

Says I, "Pish! Good for little fry! 
Marbles?" says I. Says he, "Not I!" 




Says he, " Play jack-straws? — I 've brought mine." 

Says I, " Run home ter Poll, 
And make her slick yer hair down fine, 

And give yer yer rag-doll ; 
We '11 drag her 'long in yer sweet go-cart." 
Says Tommy promptly, " Ain't you smart ! " 



Says I, " '11 you play ball? — got my bat." 

'S he, "Go to yer grandmother!" 
'S I, " Don't you speak to me like that ! " 

'S he, "What if I should pre — fer ? " 
'S I, "You best mind" — 'S he, ''Don't you fret!" 
'S I, " 'U you fight me?" 'S he, "Jus' you bet!" 

And then we fight. And when we 've done, 

Our eyes are sometimes black, 
And all our buttons mostly gone, — 

He punches, I punch back; 
And when we 're tired out, we drop ; 
And when we 've had enough, we stop. 

But I like Tommy, he likes me ; 

There is n't another chap 
Will fight so long or readily — 

Quick, mother ! where 's my cap ? 
That whistle 's Tom — where was it laid ? 
Ah, good ! He sha'tt't tliink fm afraid! 





4«#tfe-lMf 



IN all the church she wore the prettiest bonnet; 
I It had a rose, a gold-green fly upon it, 
And wondrously became. 
All through the hymns her voice soared o'er 
the others; 
And now they tell me, many anxious mothers, 
That she is much to blame. 



Yes, yes; no doubt. 'T is surely unbefitting 
To make all eyes refer to where you 're sitting 
Or standing up at praise. 
There 's something radically wrong, one fancies, 
About a maid the congregation's glances 
Follow in all her ways. 

Yes, yes ; no doubt. I feel it is my duty 
To wrestle with this proud, unbroken beauty : 

But here 's the rub, — ay, here: 
When I would speak the crushing accusation, — 
I can't account for 't, — my articulation 

Grows anything but clear. 



27 



She turns on me her brown eyes, sweet and laughing, 
And so my sermon ends in — almost chaffing. 

To lecture would seem vain 
When radiant smiles her teasing teeth reveal all — 
Indeed, when she smiles pleasantly, I feel all — 

Ah, how shall I explain ! 



Yet right is right, and wrong is wrong ; and surely 
(How easy 't were, would she but heed demurely!) 

This same day I must speak, — 
Remonstrate with her o'er her erring courses. 
But as I fear the foe's confusing forces 

Of dimples in the cheek, 

I '11 seek her when the summer light ' & ~- 

is failing; 
We '11 lean together o'er the 
garden railing, 

While by cool breezes 
fanned 
The dewy roses shake their heads 

and shiver, — ^ , 

And in the perfumed dusk I 
will deliver 

My pastoral reprimand 




28 



A KITTEN. 




^j) KITTEN small sat in a fluffy 
heap 
! Regarding a young man 
Whose study of his upper lip 
was deep ; 
Thus her reflections ran. 



"That slim young man who stands before 
the glass 
In his white sleeves, and thinks, — 
Now o'er his face bright "gleams of pleasure 
pass, 
Again his spirit sinks. 

" I know what ails him, — I, the little cat 

Born just the other day, — 
And I smile at him from his best silk hat 

In a superior, way. 



29 



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" But yet I think he will have suffered much 

Ere his are fierce and fine 
As mine, and long and silken to the touch, — 

And I was born with mine ! " 




3- 





TO A THOUGHT. 







HIS great man in his gloomy den 
Sat planning some fine, serious thing, 
Involving fates of myriad men ; 
And it was morning, it was spring. 



The high, dim window stood full wide, 
With no thought to let in the fair 

Warm light, the good smell from outside, 
But just a useful dose of air. 



Yet light from the forgotten sky 

Came in, and smells of roses, too, 

And presently a butterfly, — 

A yellow one, just flecked with blue. 

33 



The great man's quill paused in the air ; 

He looked up with a cold gray eye ; 
What guest intrusive had he there? 

Dear him ! a yellow butterfly. 

A butterfly ; yes, such things were 

Outside, he knew, — out of his line! 

Of painted wings, still, what a pair ! 
For such a lady's waist, so fine ! 

" But flee, you sunny stranger, flee ! 

Parade elsewhere your golden grace; 
For this will never do for me," 

He said, and drove his quill apace. 

And, as the bright thing would not go, 
The poor stern great man by and by 

Took one large volume from a row 
And placed it on the butterfly. 



My meaning is, I think, quite clear, 

You little, gentle, tender thing, 
Useless, adorable, fine, dear, 

You sweet, sweet thought to whom I sins: ! 



34 



The great man in this case am I, 

What silk so e'er my steel nerve mask ; 

And you 're the noxious butterfly 

That lures my cold eyes from their task. 

And, for you are so dear, so bright. 

And, for we love you, you must flee; 

If you preferred to stay, you might, 

If that were not so, — can't you see ? 

But pity the great man and me, 

And take your gay gold wings else- 
where ; 

Leave us to labor, as must we, 

In dens unbutterflied and bare. :M 

For if you stay, you may be caught 
And slain with a regretful blow ; 

Or, poor frail sweetness, you may not, — w 
And that is worse for us, you know, ft 




35 




SHADOWS. 

ISTRESS CAROLINE and I, 
Carolus, 
When June glorifies the sky, 
Go on formal walks together, 
And exhaustively the weather 
We discuss. 

With her barriers of reserve 

(Chevaux-de-frise ! ) 
And disdain in every curve 
Of her profile sweet and cold, 
She might well a far more bold 

Rob of ease. 

So I turn me from the fair 

Cold-and-sweet, 
And divert my dark despair 
Watching two wise, happy shadows 
Stealing softly through the meadows 

At our feet. 



37 



When I drop a pace behind 

(Shine, sun, shine !) 
Who dares say she is unkind? 
See her graceful shadow gliding, 
Friendly, sociable, confiding, 

Close to mine ! 

In truth, her deportment 's stiff 

And defiant; 
But that form in sweet relief 
On the sunlit grassy ground, 
When there comes a little mound, — 

See, how pliant ! 

In flesh she 's majestical 

More than wish, 
Goddess — yea, though china fall! 
But in shadow on the grass there, 
Trembling, flustered, see her pass there, 

Womanish. 

Now her hat-strings brush my ear ; 

Now one tress 
Floats so near, so near, so near — 
Now the gallant shadow there 
Is going to kiss that shadow hair, 

As I guess. 



38 



No ! The sun in sudden rack 

Cools his flame ; 
And she says, " Let us go back." 
So we saunter home together, 
Chatting calmly of the weather, 

As we came. 



39 



&n</j 




■--■■■■- ■•; -■<-■ ■ 



", 




IS face is such as cannot fail 
To please, though of a type not rare ; 

And his tail 
Has such an element of grace 
It bears out well the promise fair 

Of his face. 



A satin-sleek, loose-fitting skin; 

Five sooty mouches, two on each cheek, 

One on his chin ; 
Five lines, conveying pained surprise 
At ways of men, his brow do streak 

Between the eyes. 

His eyes, then, have a puzzled way, 
As though a wayworn foreign chap 

From far away 
Should beg in language no one knows 
A bread-crust, and some wag mayhap 

Give him a rose. 



40 



His nose, a sensitive, neat pug, 
Relieves with humorous upward knack 

His solemn mug; 
One curious tooth of ivorie 
Projects across a lip as black 

As may well be. 



With valued points so well endowed, — 
So broad of back, so slim of loin, 

Of leg so bowed, 
Of tail so as no straight-haired girl 
But would expend much precious coin 

For its curl, 

He is, that I, his mistress dear, 
When in the street his devious ways 

I strive to steer 
With azure riband silken-fine, 
Feel conscious pride write on my face 

" He is mine ! " 




No more indulgent friend than I 

I feed him on minced chicken-breast/ 

And custard-pie ; 
He has a soft bed of his own, 
Yet oft prefers for his night's/rest 

Mv eider-down 



STvfe. 



: i> 



v«r* 



41 



A blanket snug against the cold 
He wears ; and all his steps I know 

From bell of gold, 
Whether his leisure he employ 
Worrying the maid above, — below, 

Worrying the boy. 

How he is past conception sweet ! 
How, when a foe comes, in my arms 

He seeks retreat! 
With what zest he destroys my hats ! 
How he barks out his wild alarms 

When I say, " Cats ! " 



You ought to see him paw my dress, 
If he wants anything, the pet! 

Scrap or caress ; 
With soft calinerie unmatched 
Rub up against my side to get 

His sweet head scratched. 

You ought to see him sit and beg, 
Or give young Green a playful, sly 

Nip in the leg; 
And when the worm turns in his pain, 
Flee, watch his chance, and presently 

Nip him again! 





42 



I 've heard him called a pampered brute : 
The coward charge (preposterous quite !) 

I could refute 
With utmost ease, if so I chose ; 
But that the world is full of spite 

Every one knows. 



43 




<s^^ 



UNE PARISIENNE. 




ITTENED hands thrust in his pockets, 
Fur cap drawn down to his eyes, 
'- f! Mild orbs starting from their sockets 
In a trance of pleased surprise, — 



At the window he stands rooted, 

Gazing at her through the glass, 

Getting cold and colder-footed 

As the unheeded minutes pass. 



44 



Is not she a dainty vision ! 

All one faultless baby-pink, 
Gold hair dressed in style Parisian, 

Eyebrows black as India ink. 

Eyes perhaps a little starey, 

But of such a charming blue ! 

Lips most like a double cherry, 

Freshly glossed with morning dew ! 

On her breast a red rose smoulders 
In a cloud of smoke-like lace 

Veiling just the perfect shoulders 
One would argue from her face. 

Now she fronts us, softly eyeing 
The young bumpkin gratified ; 

Then — one fancies she is sighing — 
Turns a little to one side. 

Then in one long glance assembles 
All she may not care to say, 

Then, her steadfast blue gaze trembles, 
Then, her face is turned away! 

And in place of it — oh, fluffy 

Triumph of the barber's art ! 

Curls so curly, puffs so puffy, 

Each must cost a man his heart. 



45 



Sighs her simple country capture, 
And remembers he must go; 

When, behold ! upon his rapture 

Dawns the soft lost profile, slow. 

Now one eye is on him bearing, 

As the puffs and curls grow less ; 

Now both great sweet eyes are staring 
With an unchanged tenderness. 

And he basks in it, forgetting 

Why he came to town today, — 

But one eye again is setting, 
Now the other fades away. 

Then he minds him of his duty, 
Tears his fettered fancy free, 

Walks off, murmuring, " Oh Beauty — 
What a searching air this be ! " 



46 





LITTLE maid sat on a 
stone, 
Considering her woes. 
Her gown was sky-blue satin, sown 

With sprigs of briar-rose ; 
A ribboned crook lay at her side ; 

Buckles were on her shoes. 
She sat upon this stone and cried. 



'. 



Before her lay green meads ; behind, 

A little tree did rise, 
Whose April tufts put one in mind 

Of giant butterflies, — 
Fantastic swarm, green-winged, absurd, 

There fluttering, leaf-wise ; 
Upon this tree was a large bird. 

The poor child, sitting there alone, 

Made herself evil cheer ; 
The world seemed colder than the stone ; 

A frequent little tear 
Her golden lashes overran. 

Now she looked up : quite near 
There stood a nice old gentleman. 

He wore a neat three-cornered hat, 

A plum-colored waistcoat, 
Whose fob protruded with his fat 

Gold watch ; . below his throat 
A handsome fall of snuffy lace ; 

But worthiest of note 
Was still his kind, sagacious face 




->,•. 



He turned his deep-lit, knowing eyes 

Upon the little maid, 
Who paused a moment in her sighs. 

"What ails you, dear?" he said. 
She stared up where he smiled at her, 

Then sniffed, " My sheep have strayed ; 
I don't know where to find 'em, sir." 

The old man sat down by her crook, 

Upon another stone, 
Cheered her, and comfortingly took 

Her small hand in his own. 
"For sheep see fit to stray, you cry? 

Just leave those sheep alone. 
Leave 'em alone," he said, " say I ! 

"Just let'em stray and stray and stray; 

They '11 tire of wandering. 
You lie beneath this tree all day, 

Enjoy yourself, pipe, sing ; 
They '11 all come home ere night, you '11 see, 

As meek as lambs, and bring 
Their tails just where they ought to be." 



5i 



I think I must have been the bird 

Above, for still I seem 
That precious lesson to have heard 

From Time's lips, in a dream; 
And when my sheep stray,- — -not real sheep 

With wool, as you may deem, 
(I can't have been myself Bo-Peep !) 

Not woolly sheep, but things, I mean, 
That likewise go wrong, roam, — 

In vain regrets I waste no spleen, 
But toss off care as foam : 

I live as if in joyful case, 

And duly they come home 

With figurative tails in place. 





VOW it is no virtue in some folk 

To not buy loves of bonnets ; but in me, 
£1 That so love bonnets, this last season's toque 
Shows every virtue in a high degree. 



Nobody knows how things they have in shops 
Appeal to me, — things that I cant afford! 

soul yearns ; and I still with little sops 
That Cerberus, awaiting my reward. 



But I sha'n't be rewarded, you will see ; 

In thrice-dyed gowns and last year's hats 
grown old 
I '11 die of some unstylish malady, 

And be translated to the streets of gold 



W 



And there the harp, the palm! No hats at all — 
Haloes ! No doubt my soul is not so shut 

To good but I too feel the higher call 

At times, and hope for Paradise; but — but — 

If, for example, there might be a kind 

Of ante-chamber to the Heavenly Hall, 

Where I might stay a little, and there find 

The things I longed for on this earthly ball! 

Know for a moment how it feels to own 

A seal-skin sacque, real pearls, fans, bangles, rings, 
A silver coffee-set that 's not a loan, 

And perfumes and silk gowns, and all such things ! 

Then, ushered in where cherubim sing praise, 
I 'd don without a murmur my white stole, 

And be an angel my eternal days — 

Ah, God forgive my worldly little soul ! 



' /'It- f/ ' 




54 




m-l * 





|Y little love," he murmured in her 
ear, 
When her pas seiil was danced, 
And she came tripping 'mid an echoing 

cheer 
Behind the scenes, flushed, smiling and 

entranced, 
" My little dove, such loveliness, such 

charm, 
Such grace, a very tiger might disarm ! " 




tffi*ff 




' And afterward, when cosily tucked in 
She lay in slumber sweet, 
A few red leaves still where her wreath had been, 

And lead in both her tired little feet, 
iThere came to her upon the dawn's first gleam 



M\0%^2uJSuch a fantastic nattered little dr< 



'"VShe thought she stood in a vast jungle green, 
Where Indian winds blew balm; 
And presently a tiger, fierce and lean, 
' Came toward her from a screen of rustling palm, 

/ ^°^-- ) A tiger, amber-eyed and grim and sleek, 
v^<»yj Who had n*t had the least meal for a week.^-H?^! 




The words some one had murmured in her ear, 
And straightway she advanced with easy grace, 
And smiled right in the tiger's glowering face. 

The tiger, taken much aback, made pause, 

And eyed with glances cold 
Her slim shape in its skirts of pinky gauze, 

Airy and crisp and spangled o'er with gold; 
He eyed her downward from her hair's red rose, 
Then upward from her satin-slippered toes. 

Now she spread out her round white arms like wings, 

And rose upon the tips 
Of those enchanting satin-slippered things, 

A breathless smile upon her parted lips ; 
She moved along with tiny hurried hops — 
The tiger sat square down and licked his chops. 

Then, with the languor of who condescends, 

She glided where he sat, 
So near she brushed his savage whisker-ends, 

And daintily performed an entrechat j 
And with an unconcern that made him stare 
Stood five full minutes one foot in the air. 

She pursed her lips in her most winning way, 

And blew him a light kiss. 
The brute looked as a tiger who should say, 

" Whoe'er heard of so rich a jest as this ! " 
His yellow eyes with admiration warmed, — 
And so, the dream ran, so he was disarmed. 

57 





HE farmer had five buxom girls, — 

Joan, Betty, Hester, Peg, and Kate; 
And all had blushes, dimples, curls, 
Had dewy lips and noses straight. 
And four, in truth, were not sedate, 
But Kate was quiet as a mouse, — 

And I loved Kate, 
And I dwelt in her father's house. 



And when at evening work was o'er, 

The girls and we, the farmer boys, 
Would clear the great worn kitchen floor 

For games and dances, rounds and noise ; 
And when none knew what more to play, 

Each pastime having served enough, 
I 'd shyly say, 

" Let 's have a game of blind-man's-buff ! " 



S3 



Then, while all minds were occupied 

With searching for that 'kerchief red 
Of size sufficient to be tied 

About the boyish bullet head, 
Kate, with one finger on her lips, 

Her long, moist eyes on mine that glowed, 
Would stilly slip 

From out the busy, laughing crowd, 



And spend among the window-plants 

One careless minute casually, 
Lifting the window-blind, perchance, 

And gazing out, as if to see : 
Returning whence, she held between 
Slim fingers and unconscious 
thumb 

A trifle green, — 
A sprig of rose-geranium 




59 



That, when the game began at last 

(She 'd teased it till her fingers smelt), 
With ease and swiftness she 'd make fast 

Between her panting heart and belt; 
And when my turn came to be blind, 

Fate must have slyer been than Fate, 
But I could find 

My little rose-geranium Kate. 

Oh, happy groping in the dark 

Through fifteen thicknesses of red ! 
I 'd stop and make believe to hark, 

When I would sniff the air instead. 
And at my sleeve fair Peg would pluck, 

And Joan into my arms would burst ; 
B.ut no, I 'd duck, — 

She must smell of geranium first ! 

Oh, pleasure ! blindly following 

That fleeting perfume, haunting, fine ! 
And when I 'd caught the sweet, scared thing, 

Mine, for one little moment mine, — 
Oh, bliss ! for I might kiss her cheek, 

As was the custom at that date. 
She 's not so meek 

As she was then, now; are you, Kate? 



60 



THOSE STAIRS. 



iSFjtfgl N going up to bed last night 

I climbed with little care, 
And when I thought I 'd done the 
flight, 
There still was one more stair ; 
'T was late, the lights were out, and so 
Most grievously I stubbed my toe. 

And as I lingered, rubbing hard, 

There came a plaintive noise t > '■;£ 

Uplifted from the lone back yard. '4 ,J: 
Said I, "I know the voice; 

It's Tom. Excluded hath he been; 

Bad night ; I '11 let the poor beast in." ^1 




Descending to admit the cat 

At the dark kitchen door, 
I thought when I had reached the 
mat 
That there was one stair more ; 
My progress the dull floor did 

block, — 
My nervous system got a shock. 



6i 



I opened to the doleful crier, 
And, climbing back to bed, 

Would you believe ? strove to get higher, 
When I had reached the head ; 

In truth, upon the topmost stair 

I stood with one foot in the air. 

Then I bethought me, " Mrs. R 

Won't have the cat in nights ! " 
And I descended speedily 

To set things back to rights. 
And, i( Now I 'm safe," 

I sweetly thought ; 
" This step 's the last — " 
but it was not ! 



62 




FROM JESOP. 



I 



' "f SLY puss (literally puss) 

Once did so well with pensive purr 
And great eyes softly sulphurous 

A fond wretch fell in love with her. 

And (this was years and years ago), 
With Pygmalionic fancy stirred, 
Prayed that she might be changed into 
A woman; and his prayer was heard. 




63 



At waving of some magic wand 

Her snowy whiskers disappeared, 

Her narrowing lips grew pink and fond, 

Her fine ears shrank, her temples cleared ; 

Her eyes assumed a gentler tint, 

Yet kept their waxing-waning ways ; 

In her hushed step survived a hint 
Of velvet-footed feline days. 

The pensive purr she still retained, 

And ofttimes arched her graceful throat 

As if to sleek her tender-grained 
Skin, as of old her furry coat. 

She made, indeed, in her new plight, 

Curling on the familiar mat, 
As sweet a pussy-woman quite 

As she had been a pussy-cat. 

The man praised all the powers above; 

Nor did the days bring as they flew 
The least abatement in his love 

For his fastidious, tender Mil. 

Until (ah, so it still hath been: 

Your pleasure scarcely well begun, 

Some little part of speech steps in, 

If! — But! — Until! — and spoils the fun) 



64 



One day before the ingle flame 

She lay in a luxurious drowse; 

A tiny sound of scrambling came ; 

The husband cried, " It is a mouse ! " 

And then — a veil we will drop o'er 

The wretched man's dismay and shame 

To see his fair one, on all four, 

In hot pursuit of her old game. 



65 




II. 

SLEEK dog met a wolf once, long ago, 
So shabby, oh, so shabby! His rough coat 
About his hollow ribs appeared to float, 
Rather than any other verb I know. 



And he was weary, soiled with dust and mire ; 
One ear was patched, the other ear was rent; 
And in his eye a deep discouragement 

Had deadened quite its ordinary fire. 

His glance betrayed the sadness and the doubt 
Of one who has to look far in the past 
To verify how long since he dined last, 

And wonders how much longer he '11 hold out. 

The dog was moved to pity, seeing him. 
"Come home with me, Wolf," quoth he, civilly; 
" Live with us dogs a while, and do as we ; 

You soon will be as plump as you are slim. 

" This life you wolves lead can't be very gay. 
Snatched joys I know are misreported sweet ; 
And then when you don't pay for what you eat, 

You know there always is the deuce to pay. 



66 



" Now we have marrow-bones and chicken-wings — " 
A flame leapt in the wolf's reviving eye : 
"I 'm coming!" As they hastened, "By the by," 

He said, "what must one do for all those things?" 

"Oh, serve a little, fawn on a few hands — " 
The wolf slacked speed as one who meets a check; 
And now he spied a mark on the dog's neck. 

" What 's that ? " " That ? oh, my chain ! Custom 
demands — " 

" They chain you up ? " " Sometimes." The wolf 
stood still, — 
The shabby, hungry wolf. " It cannot be," 
He said. " You know, I don't mind starving, free, 

But I object, Dog, on slave's fare to fill." 





III. 

CERTAIN ass, distinguished in his set 
For extra length of ear and force of lung, 
At fortune s hands with strange preferment 

met : 
O'er his plain coat a sumptuous pall was 

flung, 

And thereon set, all brave with various paint, 
The images of many a good apostle, 
Pale rrfartyr, pious maiden, haloed saint. 

Seeing his common step must make them jostle 



In a way ('mong saints !) quite without precedent, 
'T was fit he practised majesty of gait; 

So with his burden through the streets he went 
With pace severe indeed, and moderate. 



And at his passing, — lo ! "What novel freak 

Possesses," thought this ass, "the mind of man? 
He bowed to me before not once a week, 
And now he bows and scrapes whene'er he can.'' 



He was not long accounting for the change, 
However, having once begun to try; 

For in himself full many a virtue strange 
Became apparent to his sharpened eye. 

He smiled a slow, becoming, nattered smile : 
" At last I am beginning to be prized ; 

My merits, charms, and gifts, ignored erewhile, 
I thank my stars, of late are recognized." 

So passed he, pompous, through the reverent crowd ; 

And when his pent-up joy at last found way 
In strains of exultation long and loud, 

The mild saints smiled a little, I dare say. 



69 




HAT was my rag-doll, long ago. 

Poor little strange rag-dear ! 

Her eyes were beads, her hair 

was tow, 
Her outlines slightly queer. 

And yet upon my childish heart 

All day I squeezed her tight, 
And, finding it too hard to part. 

Took her to bed at night. 

She might be there still, on some shelf, 

Spending her good old age, 
In one tucked frock I made myself 

From grandma's green barege, 

But that I had a brother, too, 
My Ben — you don't know Ben? 

He 's in the Guards now, Seventh, Blue; ! 
He wore short jackets then. 




is 



v\ 



He was my hero and my king 

In Fuzzidora's day; 
I 'd not have doubted anything 

That he might choose to say. 

Said he (I think I see him yet, 

In boyish corduroys, 
With auburn hair that curled when wet, 

The gloriousest of boys), 

"Come, Midget, fly about," he said, 
" And fetch your rag-doll out ! 

We '11 plant her in the cabbage-bed, 
And so perhaps she '11 sprout. 

m " And then who knows, instead of one, 
But you may have ten dolls 
Just like her, handsomer than fun, 
With fuzzy, flaxen polls ! " 



7i 




I readily complied, though sore 
My mother heart misgave 

To see my child thrust head afore 
Into a mouldy grave. 

One moment in the unusual air 
Her decent legs waved wild ; 

Ben tucked them in with dexterous care. 
And on them sods were piled. 

And now 't was o'er, his day of leave, 
And back to school he went ; 

I watered her both morn and eve 
With pains most diligent, 

Indulging in vast dreams and proud 

Of an amazing vine, 
Whose branches should be sweetly bowed 

With young rag-dolls like mine. 



IS 



/ \. I 



But days went by, and nothing grew, 
And still more days went by, 

And I felt sometimes rather blue, 
And half inclined to cry ; 

Till one day, doubting, yet afraid 

At such disloyal doubt, 
I bravely took my little spade 

And dug my dolly out. 

Oh, poor ! — oh, altered Fuzzidore ! 

I thought my heart would break; 
I cried one whole great week and more 

For Fuzzidora's sake. 



73 



When Ben came home for holidays, 

He bought me such a doll ! 
A Paris blonde, with boots and stays 

And even a parasol. 

He caught me up, and pinched my ear 

With such a loving touch, 
That when he said, " D' you mind much, dear? " 

I answered, " No, — not much." 



74 



LES PAPILLOTTES. 

ULALIA sat before the glass 

While Betty smoothed her hair. 
The mirror told her how she was 
Attractive, young, and fair ; 
Curtius was telling her the same 
In rosy note, where he confessed his flame. 





She read with a satiric eye 

Of passion, hope, and pain ; 
Then, careless, tossed the poor note by ; 
l^ry ' j)J * Then took it up again, 
"Vf And systematically tore, 

And folded each strip carefully in four, 



And handed in fine scorn each bit 

Of rapture to the maid, 
Who wot how to dispose of it. 

The beauty, disarrayed, 
Now crept in bed, blew out the light, 
Her locks in pink curl-papers for the night 




75 



She slept; and with each gentle breath 

The paper in her hair 
Soft rustled, and, the story saith, 

Repeated to the air 
Whate'er stood on it fervent thing, — 
As if the lover's self were whispering. 

And through her dream she heard it say, 

The twist o'er her left ear, — 
" I vow that I must love alway 
The dearest of the dear." 
And o'er her forehead spoke a twist, 
" That stolen glove I f ve kissed and over-kissed." 

Said one, " Thou art the loveliest ; 

Thy beauty I adore." 
Another, smaller than the rest, 

Sighed, "Love, love," o'er and o'er. 
And one said, " Pity my sad plight ! " 
So Curtius' passion pleaded all the night. 

Eulalia waking in the morn, 

Large-eyed, sat up in bed, 
While vows the tend'rest that be sworn 

Still whispered in her head; 
A dreamy bliss her soul possessed, — 
She rang for Betty; and before she dressed. 



7 6 



'/'/// 
•./■/■ 






if-/' 1 



t 






f 11. 



>m \ i 



&J 






/I 




Upon a subtly perfumed sheet, 
As Curtius' own, blush-pink, 

She penned, with crow-quill small and neat, 
And perfumed crow-black ink, 

In flowing hand right tidily, 
The proper, simple message, " Come at three." 



77 





VERE NOVO. 

[From the French of Victor Hugo.] 

OW smiles the new day on the tearful rose ! 
Have not the flowers delightful little beaux! 
All through the trellis where the jasmine 
clings, 
Oh, what a joyous flurry of white wings, 
That come, and go, return, spread, fold, hang still, — 
Vibrating with a vast, exquisite thrill ! 
Oh, Spring ! I muse on all the missives sweet 
That go from pensive youth to maid discreet, — 
Warm heart-throbs written fair on page cream-laid, M 
Epistles sent from broadcloth to brocade, 
Dear lines of love, sad, tender, trivial, gay, 
Received in April, and destroyed in May. ... 
And lo ! these light, white things that with the breeze 
Drift o'er the garden, nutter through the trees, — 
These snowy swarms I seem to recognize 
As torn love-letters changed to butterflies ! , \ 



H- 



78 



:$Z>CG. 









*&> ^iM^-^^''"' 



S 



%> THR,LATTER FANCY, &£\ 



& 



^ ^mm-i sO-j^R: tawny/lion, great and strong,* >»p /-y , '>' / 
s ^-*^ f With eyes^of smouldering yellow fire,— <W' ( 77) _~ 
Ang lashing tail extremely Jong, -^ /, fJ. 

^ ( i\ H S? t'tf 

/A fierce brute, only/hice to nfe, 'K^K/ / 

But me adoring with a mind. ^ / [ ,\ , ,(} '/ 




Of such/unswerving constancy $ 

/As I in man could' ( never find. 

7 .( VI / \\} 

Poetic visions filled my brain u \[ \ 
/We r two! he lying at my! feet, K 

Held captive by a slender chain^ V 
Of ' interwoven daisies sweety* \\ 



,u ! <h- 



m 



I 



A yellow lion! yes, no doubts — -1 ' J 
I cannot see one even yet ' - "A , 

Caged, but I wish that he were out^S L-=s_ 
And mine to play with, mine to pet.°^ 

Still, I confess it, points there be 

About those splendid claws and teeth 

Make me reflect how — possibly — 
I 'm better off without than with. 
79 



And with this judgment wholesomer 
I had as lief made known to all, 

For household pet I should prefer a» cn 
To-day a different animal. f 5 ^' ■'c^Ty/ 



Fine as the lion he should be, 



And rather fierce and very strpng, 



Yet always to be tamed by mfe// ^^*7 /■J— 
rLinrp perhaps, perhaps withjspr" 



With 



glance pc 



Love should he as the lion should, 

But yet express his fealty 
With language better understood, 

Less barbarous civility ; 

An animal that in his breast 

The lion's dauntless heart should hide, 






FRANGIPANI. 



HE closet where an actress 
Orders her perfumed curls, 
Each black tress 
Confining with false pearls ; 

Then, sober Nature flouting, 
In crystal balm-box dips, 

And, pouting. 
Encrimsons her proud lips. 



Across a chair lie trailing 
Queen-robes of tinsel gold, 

Exhaling 
Musk from each garnished fold. 

The tribute roses sicken ; 
With sighs of rose-despair 

They thicken 
The warm, gas-tainted air. 



Si 




00 K padded and brocaded, 
Whereto the daylight comes 
Degraded 
Through silken mediums; 



From cup where red devises 
With azure monsters quaint 

Arises 
Thin smoke of subtle scent. 



In dreams herself half losing, 
A pale great lady lies 

Perusing 
The latest verse, " Heart Cries ; " 

Feels at the rhymes' recurring 
With morbid, sensuous art, 

A stirring 
Of her anaemic heart; 

Longs for new loves, — loves stranger, 
More full of mystery 
And danger, 
And sweet in due degree, 



Than any life could show yet ; 
Then wonders dreamily, 
" This poet, — 
What may this poet be ? " 




bare, unlovely attic 
here on her bed a shy, 
Erratic, 
Poor girl lies down to die. 

Enough. He does not love her ; 
'T is time, then, that the grave 

Should cover 
What love cared not to save. 

The air grows less — grows warmer : 
Against her lips she lays 

A former 
Gift, sweet in by-gone days. 

Air ! — air ! — a vision hovers 
Before her — her dead rose 

Recovers 
Its perfume of a rose — 

Ah, sweeter than all others ! 
His kiss it is, not death, 

So smothers, 
So drinks away her breath. 

This soft weight, hot as fever, 
His mouth, no red rose, is; 

So ever 
Hot, heavy was his kiss. 




ijUCH images, scent subtly 
SC^ Luxurious, stifling-sweet, 
f^T^j^ Such motley 

iP» Impressions of sick heat, 



Sick hearts, thick air rose-blighting, 
xThou conjur'st in my brain, 
Exciting 
And cloying Frangipane. 



Till with a mighty longing 
I crave the mountain where 

Are thronging 
Clouds, dews, and cold, pure air ; 

Great fir-trees wildly shaking 
With Aquilon's large mirth, 

Dawn breaking, 
And good smells of the earth. 



- ' 







[From the French of Alphonse Daudet.] 

F you are anxious to know how 

We fell in love because of plums, 
I '11 tell you very simply now — 
If you are anxious to know how. 
Both lords and ladies will avow 

Love mostly when they 're sleeping 
comes : 
Succinctly, then, I '11 tell you how 

We fell in love because of plums. 



My uncle had an orchard vast ; 

I had a cousin, young and fair ; 
'Twixt us no word of love had passed. 
My uncle had an orchard vast ; 
His cherries being to their taste, 

A lot of little birds came there. 
My uncle had an orchard vast — 

A cousin I, both young and fair. 

85 




One morning for a walk we went 
To the orchard, I and Marietta ; 

So bright, so fresh, so innocent, 

One morning for a walk we went. 

The crickets, all in high content, 
Were practising an arietta; 

One morning for a walk we went 
In the orchard, I and Marietta. 

On every side, now loud, now low, 

The birds were singing in the bowers; 

In flats and sharps, in la and do, 

On every side, now loud, now low. 

The fields were covered as with snow 
With myriad little snowy flowers ; 

On every side, now loud, now low, 

The birds were singing in the bowers. 

So charming in her dainty frock, 

So kind, and not at all flirtatious, 

My cousin chatted like a clock, — 

So dainty in her charming frock. 

Even as a feathered shuttlecock 

She came and went, alert, vivacious, — 

So charming in her dainty frock, 

Benign, but not at all flirtatious. 



Having reached the orchard wall, 

My cousin eyes the plums' ripe splendor ; 
The greedy girl wants one or all, 
Having reached the orchard wall. 
She shakes the tree, and makes one fall; 

It lies there bloomy, tempting, tender. 
Having reached the orchard wall, 

My cousin eyes the plums' ripe splendor. 

She picks it up, and takes a bite, 

Then hands it me — oh, privilege ! 

My heart went so my head felt light : 

She picks it up, and takes a bite; 

Her tiny teeth, so fine and white, 

Had made a little scalloped edge. 

She picks it up, and takes a bite, 

And bids me taste — oh, privilege ! 

It was not much, but 't was enow ; 

What worlds it meant, that plum alone ! 
(If I had known then what I know !) 
It was not much, but 't was enow. 
Just where the pretty prints did show 

I bit the plum — I 've kept the stone. 
It was not much, but 't was enow ; 

How much it told, that plum alone ! 



8? 



TO THE READER. 

Yes, dearest reader, that is how 

We loved by reason of a plum. 
Pray, don't misunderstand us now; 
Indeed, good reader, that is how. 
But if one lifts a sceptic brow, 

And snaps a rude, derisive thumb, 

The worse for him ! for that is how 

We loved by reason of a plum. 





HEE will I sing, crystal half-bubble, thee, 
Crowned with the wine through whose clear, 
chilly gold 
The silver atoms rise, — rise restlessly; 
The hand last night about thy frail stem rolled 
Is loved by me. 



We sat by one another. I could gaze 
Unchidden on what seems to me most fair : 

Her eyes, the gray of cloudy Sabbath days, ■ 
The wondrous carven bog-wood of her hair, 
Her marble face. 



But not a kind word nor a smile won I 
From her sweet mouth, angelically cold ; 

Whate'er I said politely was set by: 
"Man's old, dull tale, to every woman told, — 
The usual lie." 




So fared we through the entrees and the roast. 
I half heard, through a haze of dull despair, 

The guests' light laugh, the stories of our host; 
Half saw the lights, the flowers, the shoulders bare, • 
All seemed pains lost. 



90 



But now the napkined bottle ! Soft and slow 
Into thee, shallow glass, poured the adept. 

Indiff ' rent I looked on ; I could not know 
How in thy gleaming depths the kind word slept, 
The smile also. 



She raised thee to her lips, serenely drained, 
Talked of the flower-show still a little while; 

The pure blood then her pure cheek purely stained; 
Kindly she spoke to me, gave me a smile, 
Frank, sweet, unfeigned 



I thank thee, crystal thing, — thank thee again 
T was thine with magic glow to melt the ice 

Thin as the frost upon a window-pane, 
And let through cold convention, custom nice, 



Her heart be plain. 




9 1 



THE DANCING-MASTER'S FAREWELL. 




HE honored lady, Madam Strictenstern, 
Directress of this noble seminary, 
Has signified in terms succinct — oh, very — 
Your dance-steps need no more be my concern. 
The reason for this sudden, sharp suppressing 
That innocent diversion from your books, 

Is — I feel some embarrassment expressing 
My meaning — is — young ladies — my good looks. 



"When putting on my pumps one hour gone by 
To seek this field of honorable action, 
I little thought they could be a detraction, 

My faultless nose, my large and languid eye ! 
But criticising aught would ill befit me 

That Madame urged, and — yes, I understand ! — 
And so am come to kiss — if you '11 permit me • 

The seminary's — figurative — hand. 



92 



" No more now in the mazes of the valse 

May we meet, nor across the lively Lancers ; 

No more may I advise my docile dancers 
With, ' This is doubtful art,' ' That pas is false.' 

But something whispers to an injured feeling 
The memory of me shall live on yet 

(And precious is the thought, and full of healing) 
In each hereafter perfect pirouette ! 




" But even now stands one upon the stair 
Who in my place — for the same mod- 
erate stipend — 
Will guide your footsteps, and whose 
judgment ripened 
Is well attested by his thinning hair; 

Whilst I — far, far away (what grief 
within stirs ! 
Miss Blanche, Miss Rose, I beg you will not 
cry !) 
Shall teach to unimpressionable spinsters 
The minuet — Mesdemoiselles — good-by ! " 



93 




FROM THE GERMAN. 
I. 



THE COURT FOOL. 



3HE King and many a jovial lord 



Sat gathered round the festive board, 
While Snuff, the court fool, scatter-brained, 
Their excellencies entertained. 

At his swift sallies, pranks, and quips, 
Broad laughter strained their easeful 

lips; 
But one guest sat in study brown, 

With dull, grave eyes still looking 
down. 



" Now, prithee," quoth Sir Silver- 
^ scarf 

Unto the King, " what ails that 
dwarf ? 
When we with mirth are overcome, 
Why doth he sit so stiff and glum ? " 

" This is the point," replied the King, 
" That is my other jester, Sting ; 
And this is his half-holiday 
He may enjoy in his own way." 




94 




THE EAGLE AND THE RHINOCEROS. 

HE eagle said to the rhinoceros, 

Whom, foraging one day, he chanced to cross, 
" Indeed, thou art a despicable beast ! 
Of poesy in thee is not the least ; 
Whilst I, who fix the sun with fearless sight, — m 
What poet envies not me my bold flight ? " r 



m > 




^7 



Then the rhinoceros, in placid 

tone, 
Spoke : " Poets envy not thee, 

bird, alone ; 
When his bold flights as conse- ,- h 

quences bring i 

Full many a pointed, free, unpleasant thing 
From critics, in his galled, writhing pride, 
What poet envies not me my thick hide ? " 



95 





Pa a 



HIS young lamb was not in the least 
The lamb they represent ; 
He was a wicked little beast, 
Not mild nor innocent. 



When his grieved dam with long appeals 
His conscience would assail, 

He would kick up his naughty heels, 
And shake his woolly tail. 

And if he found some toothsome weed 
Such as the flock love best, 

He would eat thrice what he did need 
To keep it from the rest. 

When Mary her white pet would call, 
Demurely he 'd draw nigh, — 

Then butt her, just to see her fall, 
And smile to hear her cry. 

96 



But if she chanced with bread and jam 
To pass him schoolward bent, 

This undeserving little lamb 

Would go where'er she went. 



Against her side — a scurvy trick ! — \Zjq 

He 'd rub his woolly head, y^W\^ 

And as she stroked it he would lick 



The jam from off her bread. 



Till, having heard once how his kind j? 

Are dinner-table stuff, 
He gave his undivided mind 

To growing- lean and tough. 




97 



Crimson-kirtled maiden, 
With braided flaxen hair, 
Stands in her little doorway 




4f^s; ^^ Whenever it is rainy, 
^(i*&$^\ A P rett y ]ad m blue 



Comes to his little threshold, 
As if to note the view. 



<r ^^. To hide herself, 



Whenever it is rainy, 

She hastes with curious care 

as he does 
Whenever it is fair. 



She looks upon the sunlight 

With melancholy eyes, 
And thinks, " If there were some one 
£) About my style and size 
( With whom I could at all times 
Entirely sympathize ! " 



«V^2^, 




WiiOl 



And with an apprehension 
Her timid pulses stir 

Of just such a fine springal 
As lives next door to her 



He watches the dull raindrops 
Drenching the misty land ; 

His soul sighs for another 
Soul, similarly planned, 

That might from its own yearnings 
His yearnings understand. 



And his lone spirit wanders 
'Mid fancies soft and dim 

Of just such a young person 
As lives next door to him. 

So near that if they listened 
Each might hear the other sigh 

So near they might touch fingers 
If they knew but to try, — 

If they might meet, what rapture ! 

But it can never be . 
It shines — and he retires ; 

It rains — and in s;oes she 





FOR THE SAFETY OF THE PUBLIC. 



[Caldwell pinxit.] 

, M finks vat I 'm a drangerous droggie ; 
Well, ven, perhaps I be. 
Urn 's fixded wiv big strap and bucknell 
My daddy's muzzle on me. 

Perhaps it 's best ; for I 'm a fierce un. 

I got big toofs just come; 
And when um pulls my welvet earses, 

I twist, — and bite um fum. 



Miss Dolly come into my kennel, 
And kiss me half to defs ; 
She crush me to her girl-face, laughing, 
To 'mell my puppy brefs. 



She call me ''lamb," and "fweetness doggums," 
" Dear man," and " angel beast ; " 

She cratch my turn, which do seem daring, — 
Or rather free, at least. 



For I 'm a big, blug-fusty droggie ; 

Urn 's had to muzzle me up ; 
Um only take vis muzzle off me 

When time am milks to sup. 

But I do wish, now no one looking, 

Yet help am wivin hail, 
I might get black nose out of muzzle, 

I wants to play wiv tail. 




FRANKLIN SQUARE. 





HERE is a garden in mid-city, 

With rounds and squares of green; 
When May days make it almost pretty, 
There, punctual as a church committee, 
The nursery maids convene. 

Comes dusk Aunt Dinah with the baby, 

Soft thing of fluff and lace; 
Comes Mammy Prissy, proud as may be 
When "frien's call her chile mon'sous hebby 

For nine monfs, 'lebben days." 



Wheeling the twins, there 7 s Mademoiselle, 

In a French fluttering cap ; 
There 's Biddy, with the child who fell, 
And since that day is never well, 
Safe on her kind, broad lap. 



And there 's the young thing " Rosy " named, 
Who cries to charge aged two, 

The sturdy villain unreclaimed, 

Who scorns to mind, " Ain't you ashamed, 
A great big boy like you ! " 



And budding swarms with flowing rings, 
In little kilts and vests, 
In tiny frocks and leading-strings, 
That toddle 'mid the budding tilings, & 
And make a noise like nests 



To my green settle J repair, 

And watch the tender train 
I hear one, — " What 's he doing there 
The old gray fellow with the stare, 
Sucking his gold-topped cane?" 





Nay — nothing. Nay, — proceed, my dear, 

With rosy play and strife, — 
A poet's words ring in my ear : 
Oh, spring, spring, youth-tide of the year ! 
Oh, youth, spring-tide of life J 



104 





DMHOTM 



: S: fe|iHERE lived a giant; and he was so big 

That had there been upon his forehead fair 
A mole, and on that mole a hair, that hair 
Would have appeared a twig. 



The rest in due proportion ; but his mind 
(By thoughtful disposition of the gods, 

Who saw how man had been 
at fearful odds 

Else with one of his 
kind) 

Was not more than the' man's 
whom with his thumb 

He might, if he felt vicious, 
lightly slay, 



And had as much room in his skull as, say, 

A pea has in a drum. 
He was a great, good-natured, blundering fellow, 
Who ne'er had spent a long breath in a sigh — 
Until one day there came a butterfly, 

All dusty brown and yellow. 

It flashed about his heavy, wondering eyes ; 
He held his hand out for the winged treasure. 
It lit there, debonuair, pleased with his pleasure 

In all its pretty dyes, 
One second, but ere the other hand was ready, 
Flew with a flutter like malicious laughter 
Beyond his grasp ; and, sighing, he gazed after 

The saucy little lady. 

Then she returned; evading his strong hand. 

Wheeled all about his mild, gigantic head, 

And with a small, soft wing, just touched with red, 

His fond lip faintly fanned. 
She brushed his gnarled, massy locks for him, 
She settled for an instant on his nose, 
Then in the sunny air so high arose 

His straining eyes grew dim. 

"Here!" cried the giant, stamping in a pet, 
" Come here, you little gauzy thing, I say ! 
I am a giant, I must have my way, — 
None dared defy me yet." 

106 



The butterfly looked down on the great lout, 
And — in a playful mood, we must suppose — 
Placed one slight thumb against her little nose, 
And spread her fingers out. 

Unwary fly ! for, in her rage to tease, 

See how she comes too near him she would flout, 

Who, blind with baffled longing, stretches out 

Rough fingers, mad to seize 
That painted dust, so frail, yet so defiant — 

Upon his hand some faint gold atoms lie — 
And where is it, the golden butterfly ? 

And where, too, — is the giant? 



107 



TO MY OLD WATCH. 

[From the Italian of D. Gnoli.] 




N vain, old friend, I take you up and shake, 
and try to mend. 
In vain I hold you to my ear. No use ! 
you 've stopped, old friend. 
Unto a very thankless lord your services were lent : 
You measured Time, — and he your life, with ruthless 

measurement. 
Your doctor told me so : " He 's broken down, his teeth 

are bad; 
Against the fell effect of years no help is to be had." 
Now many a day, you know, old man, a random race 

you 've run, 
Confounding dusk and dawn, ignoring laws of star and 
sun ; 



But I bore with your age, and e'en no serious fault 

would find 
When you stood still for several hours, as if to get 

your wind. 
Through you, I 've got there early in a hot, dishevelled 

state, — 
"No matter," have I said; "here's a Havanna while 

I wait." 
Through you, I Ve got there late ; and though reproaches 

were not few, 
I 've lowered my devoted head — and laid no blame on you. 
Through you, the whistle of the fast-receding train I 've 

heard ; 
On which occasions, you will own, I Ve scarcely said 

a word. 
Now Time has slain you, —Time, your master; Time, 

our common foe ; 
Old Time, who lives upon the dead, — a dreary carrion 

crow ! 

Within a certain casket's shade, gloom perfumed and 

discreet, 
Have I a little burial-ground of trifles dear and sweet; 
A broken plaything, letters, bits of ribbon, too, are there, 
And dark remains of faded flowers, and fading locks of 

hair. 
There shall you rest, old friend ; and when I lift the 

casket's lid, 
I shall imagine that I hear you tick as once you did, 
Enlivening the lonesome, studious watches of the night, 

109 



Lightsome and young, against a heart then young as 

well, and light. 
And you shall wake that still world with your former 

clear tick-tack : 
Up, up, you dead, for I 've made the complacent years 

turn back ! 
I mark the hours of happy days that some had fancied 

dead. 
Return, O dusky ring, to wave upon its lovely head! 
Once more, O blackening rose, be red within a garden 

gay! 
O broken toy, be whole ! a little child desires to play. 
Nay, Time has slain you, — Time, your master ; Time, 

our common foe, 
Who feeds upon the dead, — a dreary, darkling, carrion 

crow ! 
But let no jealous grudge toward the new heir your 

slumbers break; 
Already do I hate the stranger watch your place shall 

take. 
You told the blissful morning hours of youth and love 

and hope ; 
And he must count the heavy steps adown the sunset 

slope. 
Resigned, lie in your grave. Fate deals alike with all, 

old friend ; 
And being born is iust the first step leading to the end. 




You see the sun, — the sun up there, the 
moving hand of gold 
By whom upon the azure dial the pass- 
ing hour is told ? 
He, too, is growing old. He '11 
totter in the sky ere long, 
And, doting, get the days and 
months inextricably wrong. 
Then Time will frown severely, and 
" Enough ! enough ! " he '11 shout ; 
This clock is out of kilter, these 
wheels are quite worn out ! " 
And there shall be a noise of 
crumbling systems, — stars 
that fall; 

And then the icy 
darkness, and obliv- 
ion over all. 



L'BRARY OF CONGRESS 

J0_015 971 166 3 



